


Dovetail

by cruxcantare



Series: Mixed Messages [3]
Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Drunk Driving, Drunken Confessions, Drunkenness, Kayfabe Compliant, Late Night Conversations, M/M, Memory Loss, mentions of child abuse, the morning after
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-31
Updated: 2017-01-31
Packaged: 2018-09-21 04:29:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9531527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cruxcantare/pseuds/cruxcantare
Summary: Dean doesn't remember the night before, and AJ's not very forthcoming with the details.





	

**Author's Note:**

> While it follows continuity with Enthrall, you can go into this blind. There's mentions of a drinking game and that happens in Enthrall, so that may inform you more about what's going on here. Takes place around the holiday tour. Largely kayfabe compliant, with one rather obvious exception.

Dean’s first waking thoughts are all on that smell.

It lingers on his nose, even before he’s fully awake. Fresh. Dean doesn’t have the words to describe the scent. Clean. Dean pulls the pillow closer to him, catching a bit of that smell on the fabric. He snuggles into it, trying to ignore the light from the window. The closer he gets to the surface, the more a dull ache makes itself known. He screws the heel of his hand into his head, a groan as he opens his eyes. Pills and coffee. Fuck, how much did he drink last night?

Dean’s eyes blink open.

This isn’t his hotel room.

Dean’s eyes dart around. He’s in a full size bed, under a dark blue duvet. The room is fairly empty—a closet by the window has nothing in it but a couple stray hangers; a bureau is set by the door. The wallpaper was a plain light blue. Above his head, there’s a ceiling fan.

Dean tries to think back, tries to remember where he is and how he got there, but he’s hitting a wall. He’d wrestled AJ and Cena last night, both men’s moves in a triple threat environment becoming more familiar and routine after main eventing multiple house shows with both men. That he knew, even if he could only make out a thin outline of the match. Dean rarely remembered moves unless they really hurt. It doesn’t surprise him that the match was distilled into highlights, the way his shoulder hit the mat after an Attitude Adjustment, one particularly brutal kick to the head.

It’s the rest of the night that surprises him. It feels like flashes. Shots, for sure, amber liquid. He can’t even remember what exactly it was. The radio in his rental belting out the Sugarhill Gang. Something cinnamon and warm on his tongue.

Dean’s almost fully dressed. A sock slipped off sometime during the night; his boots are by the door. He’s not wearing his jacket. He pats down his pockets, finding them empty. He slowly sits up, trying to figure how the Sugarhill Gang and cinnamon brought him to some random house. His eyes catch sight of his wallet and phone on the carpeted floor, and he picks both up. A quick survey of the wallet tells Dean that he wasn’t robbed; his phone is dead, an empty outline of a battery flashing before his eyes when he presses power.

His hand finds his head again as he stands, walking slowly through the room. He doesn’t bother looking for his sock, instead walking out of the room. Dean comes out into a small hallway; there’s a down staircase in front of his room, and three doors along the hall. The first room is empty like his, yet rather than a blue décor, this one is green. Forest green walls, darker sheets. The second door leads to a fairly big bathroom. On one side, there was a shower with glass sliding doors; on the other, there’s a couple of sinks right beside each other, each with their own mirror and medicine cabinet. The bathroom is spotless; besides a fluffy white towel set hanging over a hamper, there’s no sign that anyone actually uses this bathroom. No pooled water around the sink, even by the drain; there was no toilet paper on the holder.

Dean catches sight of himself in the mirror. He looks like a mess. Wrinkled and heavy eyed.

Dean messes the pristine bathroom up, drinking water from one of the faucets before splashing water on his face. He uses the smallest of the white towels to dry afterwards. He uses the toilet, looking out the small window over it while he relieves himself. Trees. Full of browned leaves. Where was he? He leaned closer to the window, looking from left to right. There was a swing set to the left, in a neighbor’s lawn, but otherwise all Dean could see were dead trees.

Dean hadn’t blacked out like this in a while; last night must’ve been something else.

The fourth room is much more lived in; a giant master bedroom. A framed Falcons jersey and a flat TV on the wall. Football bobbleheads on a dresser. The bed messy, unmade, the brown quilt hanging off the side. Clothes on the floor.

Dean catches sight of a couple framed photos, and his brow furrows, knowing exactly where he is—but not how he got there. How he knew where _there_ was. Dean stares at a photo of a much, much younger AJ—maybe thirteen at most, between two older white people in khakis whom Dean assumes are his grandparents—and wonders what the hell’s he doing in his house.

Dean remembers the way the crowd sounded for AJ the night before. Rapturous. The people in his home state didn’t care for Cena’s star power or Dean’s… Deanness at all. That night was all about AJ, though, Dean remembers sourly, AJ tended to get the lion’s share of the love everywhere they went. Cena’s celebrity muddied the waters, but when it was just AJ and Dean, the crowd sided with the self-absorbed one.

Dean had invited AJ to his room. Dean blinks, remembering his fingers dipped into AJ’s tights, the other man sweaty and tense from the humiliation that followed the match, Dean himself and Cena both getting some measure of payback at the man who couldn’t help but cheat, despite having all that talent and all that undeserved love.

AJ had pulled away, his waistband snapping against his belly. He’d told Dean he was going home for the night. Dean’s fingers press into his forehead, trying to remember the conversation or anything that happened afterwards. The dull ache turns into more of a pounding, Dean wincing as the memory he was chasing begins to dissipate.

Dean puts down the picture, not caring about leaving it right side up. He has to get to AJ, maybe AJ can help clear this situation… and this headache… up.

Halfway down the stairs, his mouth drops, eyes closing. Something heavenly’s in the air.

***

AJ hears the heavy steps, groaning. He tries to focus on the pan in front of him, the eggs, but his eyes keep looking for his _guest_. To say last night didn’t go AJ’s way would be an understatement—his return home wasn’t supposed to be like this. But he couldn’t kick out Dean, no, not after the way he’d come last night.

AJ was too kind for his own good, he thinks.

“What is that?”

“Cheesy eggs.”

“Is any of it for me?”

AJ turns his head to look at him. Dean’s eyes wander around AJ’s kitchen, as if he’s trying to map out the area, but Dean’s heading straight for him. He hadn’t bothered to fix his bedhead; the clothes he was wearing last night wrinkled from sleeping on them.

“Sure. Why not.” Dean’s eyebrows furrow, and AJ’s sure the other man knows he’s frustrated. He nods towards the adjacent dining room, separated from the kitchen by a counter. The counter’s clean except for a stack of envelopes on one end and a plate with a silver tin covering it on the other. From here, Dean can see AJ’s brown, medium sized table, where AJ wanted him to go. Too close still but AJ feels claustrophobic right now, with Dean so close. “Go get a seat, I’ll be done soon.”

 “Did I do something last night?”

AJ’s hand tightens around the fork in his hand. A breath. No, he won’t ruin breakfast because Dean is a screw up.

“If you don’t remember that’s on you.”

AJ’s eyes go back to the stove. He knows Dean is coming closer, but he’s doing his best to ignore him. If AJ knew getting off a couple times with Dean would lead to this, he wouldn’t have let himself fall so easily into this pattern. That’s what he tells himself anyway.

AJ doesn’t feel the fingers slide into the loops of his jeans, but he does feel the tug. AJ twists around, out of the grasp, and unintentionally, he holds out the greasy, cheese covered fork like a weapon. Dean’s hands immediately go up in surrender, but the smirk on Dean’s face just makes AJ feel angrier.

“I might not remember much but I do know sleeping in your house is a little fucking different for us, don’t you think?”

“You weren’t _invited_ ,” AJ snarls, and he almost regrets the reaction. Dean blinks, hands slowly going back to his sides, mouth slightly agape at that. It’s almost innocent and AJ could almost forget everything Dean had done the night before. Almost.

“Then… what… how’d I get here?”

AJ swallows a breath. He hates how confusing things get around Dean. But he has to hold his ground about this one. What Dean did was self-destructive, was selfish, was… AJ shakes his head, trying not to think more about it.

“Go sit. We can talk when I’m done. Don’t want burnt eggs, no?”

Dean stares at him for far too long, and AJ wonders if he has to prompt him away again. But Dean gives a slight nod before opening his mouth.

“Tylenol?”

***

_You weren’t invited._

Dean’s bare foot crosses over his knee, off the cold tile ground of the dining room. He didn’t mind it so much when he was behind AJ, but interacting with AJ tends to focus him. Left to his own devices, it was as if he suddenly realized the floor was cold. His head was on the table, hoping it would help ease his headache… and if not those eggs would do just fine.

Dean doesn’t get it. He, of course, hears AJ’s hometown whenever they wrestle, but he didn’t know much about where he lived beyond that. AJ had to have brought him here, had to have given him an address. Dean couldn’t make up another explanation. He specifically remembered AJ telling him he was going home…

A thud makes him look up. AJ looks less combative now, face soft as he places a glass of orange juice next to the plate. Along with the eggs, there was a piece of bread, warm and thick.

“Here.”

Dean nods, whispering a thank you as AJ heads back to the kitchen for his own plate. His eyes follow AJ’s body as he digs his fork in, blowing on the eggs. AJ’s kitchen is fairly clean, the presence of pots hanging over the stove and a couple gadgets Dean doesn’t recognize tells him that the kitchen’s somewhere AJ must be comfortable. Dean opens his mouth, groaning as he tastes the eggs. He didn’t know how much he needed cheese.

“Amashin’,” Dean says, showing his food off to AJ. He’s anything but impressed.

“Mouth closed at my table thanks.” AJ sits down, digging into his own plate.

Dean waits until his mouth is empty to speak again. “Sorry, sorry.” AJ doesn’t look up from his plate. “It really is good.”

“Thank you. I just melted some cheese on eggs.”

“Eh, I couldn’t do it, don’t sell yourself short.” Dean shrugs, looking around again as he gets another bite of the eggs. Just the right amount of greasy, Dean’s glad AJ isn’t as health obsessed as some of the other guys could be. Dean couldn’t do egg whites and spinach right now. There’s a door in front of Dean, behind AJ—it leads to a pool area. On the other side of the kitchen, Dean could make out a dark hallway. “Nice place, by the way. Kind of big for one guy.”

“Didn’t plan on stayin’ one guy forever.” AJ shrugs. “Plenty a space for guests, though.”

“Like me, huh?”

AJ doesn’t answer, instead going back to the food.

“You make the bread too?”

That gets a nod.

Dean takes hold of the bread, getting a bite. It’s sweet on his tongue. Considering the way AJ dismissed the first compliment, Dean withholds comment on the bread, instead enjoying the food. Judging by AJ’s face, there’s a good chance that Dean won’t like what he says once he starts talking. But curiosity chews at him, pushing him to keep questioning AJ.

Dean waits until they’re down to the juice. AJ stands up, collecting Dean’s plate before Dean can say he doesn’t have to. Dean stands, watching AJ rinse the grease off the plates.

“So, uh.” Dean leans over the counter, crossed arms on the surface. “You gonna tell me what happened last night? What did you mean, I wasn’t invited?”

AJ still isn’t looking at him. It’s irritating, watching him load the plates into a dishwasher rather than pay attention. “What I said. My ma’s actually comin’ today, trust me I’ve got no plans to introduce ya both.”

“Oh, real sweet of ya. Guess it’s too much to expect some hospitality from a Southern boy.”

“ _Hospitality_?” That gets AJ to look at him, snapping up. He leans over the counter so their faces are close, and for a moment, Dean thinks about kissing him. It’s worked before, converting the anger they cause in one another to something more productive, but curiosity wins out. AJ reaches into his pocket, and without a word, he drops an iPhone between them. As AJ pulls up a voicemail, Dean recognizes his last name on the caller ID, the time stamp saying that it came in at 3:14 AM.

_Hiya, AJ? Allen? Aaaaaal?_

Dean cringes. He sounds wasted.

_I’ve been thinkin’ a bunch about things and people and I don’t get why you had to go home so soon. I wanna see you but I got lost so you gotta pick up. It’s creepy quiet here and this statue of some confederate guy is starin’ at me. You do know you lost that war, right?_

“You know, I know I’ve got explaining to do, but uh….” Dean stares at the phone, before looking back at AJ’s glaring face and shrugging. “I’ve got nothing.”

***

AJ does have a significant blank spot between Dean trying to lure him into his hotel room and finding that voicemail, and he feels like something must have happened in that time to make Dean stupid enough to do what he did. It’s about an hour drive between the venue and his house, less to the downtown area, but the idea of Dean doing that blitzed freaked AJ out. The idea of the damage Dean could’ve caused, to himself or anyone else on the road…

“AJ! Al- _len_!”

_Idiot._ He sounded so stupid happy for no reason. “I’m comin’ to get you. Don’t leave.”

“You don’t gotta, just give me…”

“Dean, sit tight.” AJ hates sounding like his father, but the imitation carries a certain amount of authority. Enough that Dean gave an ‘mmhmm’ as a response.

AJ barely got dressed, going to get him in his checkered pajama pants, the first t-shirt he found, and a pair of flip flops. He knew his home well, and he didn’t need much other than ‘statue of a confederate guy’ to find him. And there was his rental, Dean half asleep in a reclined seat. At least there was no puke.

AJ knocked on the window, and Dean sat up. The wide grin was enough to make AJ seethe. Dean opened the driver side door and threw his arms around AJ’s neck. AJ staggered, hand grasping the door to keep them both upright.

“Were you sleepin’?” Dean muttered by his ear. AJ could smell the liquor on his breath. Couldn’t help but cringe. Dean drank a fair amount in AJ’s experience, but AJ had never dealt with him sloppy drunk.

“Let’s go.”

***

_I’ve got nothing_ is the wrong answer, but at least it’s an honest one.

AJ shoves his phone in his pocket, taking in Dean’s face. He looks embarrassed, which at least is the proper reaction.

“I must’ve got drunk.”

“You think?”

“I’m sorry, AJ.” Dean sighs. “I can’t believe… I haven’t gotten like that since I was younger, you know? Stupid.”

“Still seem kinda stupid to me.”

“That’s fair.” Dean scratches his head, and AJ wonders if he’s being harsh, except no. Dean can’t do that, can’t put AJ in a position of being his babysitter. AJ always knew he was older than Dean, but that gulf felt nonexistent when Dean was the one humiliating him, seducing him, buying him ice packs and tiger balm. He never told Dean how much his concern touched him, how much the care package confused him but made him weirdly happy at the same time. No, instead he was prickly, instead they bickered in Dean’s hotel room and then did a drinking game.

AJ knows now he was right to be prickly. That Dean is a child who was willing to build him up or knock him down, depending on his mood. This is all a game to him, and AJ won’t let Dean put the drunk driving on his head. He won’t feel guilty about it.

AJ notices Dean pick up the silver tin. Under there is a pie with a piece missing—the insides pink, apple sticking out. AJ grows red, remembering Dean lifting it similarly the night before.

“What’s this?”

“Apple crumble.”

“You bake?”

“You just had my bread, right?” AJ rolls his eyes. He can’t wait to get rid of Dean. AJ had a lot of thinking to do, couldn’t believe he left this go on for months. “What, you want another slice?”

“Another?” Dean reaches for the pie, his finger touching the pink center. He puts his finger in his mouth. “Oh. So that’s where the cinnamon came from.”

AJ tries not to laugh. Dean had stumbled into his house and before AJ could explain he made it for his mother’s visit, Dean already had a fork in it. At that point, to keep him from digging the fork in anywhere, AJ cut him a slice. AJ had hoped at the time that after the pie, Dean would just go to bed, and they’d deal with the drunk driving in the morning.

No such luck.

“Yeah, red hots give it the color. Better not touch my pie again with your gross fingers.”

Dean nods. “It’s good.”

“Better warm,” AJ responds.

“So, uh… when’ll your mom be here? Do I got time for a shower before I get out the way?”

AJ nods in response. Dean places the tin cover back on the plate, before leaning over the counter again. Until their faces are close, and AJ can’t help but step back. He can’t play this game. He’d step back if he didn’t want to play, but for the first time, getting caught up in Dean’s orbit actually feels like losing the game entirely.

“There’s more, isn’t there? I didn’t just come here drunk and eat your pie and go to sleep, right?”

AJ’s lips press together. “Maybe you’re not so stupid, huh?”

***

Dean wishes AJ would just tell him, instead of giving these little pieces. Things still don’t line up in his head—how he ended up in his car, trashed, driving to Gainesville with no other idea of how to get exactly where AJ lived. Dean can’t help but cringe again at the thought of the possible consequences. To his dream, to his life, to others lives. He’s supposed to be the good guy, but somehow, AJ ended up with the moral high ground.

Dean doesn’t have his clothes with him, but he doesn’t mind wearing the same outfit until he gets back. AJ gave him deodorant and a bar of soap, lent him a charger for his phone. The headache’s about gone as Dean strips off his clothes and gets into the shower. His head clearer, it’s easier to think about what could’ve happened last night. Dean remembers… a bar. Yes. A Falcons bar, there was red and black everywhere.

Dean hadn’t bought himself shots at first; there were people buying them for him. As he rubbed the bar of soap over his body, he remembered talking to one of them, a stout white man with dark hair, but he couldn’t put words to his mouth. Wrestling? Atlanta’s chances at the Super Bowl? Either way, soon they were gone, and Dean was alone again. It’s not like he was a stranger to drinking a little too much, but blackout drunk? Fucking shameful.

Dean takes a deep breath. The soap is familiar... now that he thinks of it; it’s probably what AJ uses. Connecting it in his mind to where he'd smelled that scent last. On the pillow, in that room, waking up alone in a strange room. Realization hits, and in his mind, he can vaguely recall brown hair against his nose.

AJ slept in the bed with him last night. Not in his own bed, not in the master bedroom. AJ was in that bed with him.

Dean's out of the shower, drying himself quickly. He doesn't think they got together; no, Dean was fully clothed, his body wasn't aching. AJ never would've fucked him sloppy. But AJ has never slept in the same bed as him. Not in the dozen or so different hotel rooms they fucked in. AJ left each and every time, leaving Dean to eventually chase him down again. But whatever happened last night, AJ slept with him. In his arms.

Once Dean was dressed, he goes outside the bathroom, hair wet by his ears. It doesn't take long to find AJ; he's making the bed Dean slept in.

"That was fast."

"You slept here." Pointing at the bed, walking closer to AJ. AJ shakes his head, turning back to what he's doing. Folding the sheet by the pillows, before covering them, making a neat crease in the bed. "With me. Last night. We slept together."

"You didn't let me leave."

"AJ," Dean insists, "Let's not pretend you couldn't fight me off drunk. You've fucked me up when I've been at a hundred percent."

AJ twists around, glaring at him. "You want to know what _we_ did last night? Huh? You came into _my_ house blitzed, talked crap about my mother, and then you tried to yank down my pants. That's what _we_ did last night."

"You're lying."

"Why would I lie about that?" AJ shouts. They're close, they're both angry. Dean at the both of them; at his inability to anger, about AJ's refusal to give it to him straight. None of the pieces are adding up, and Dean just wants AJ to come out and fucking tell him already.

"Then why did you sleep with me?"

"Come on, I'll drive you to your rental..."

Dean can't take this anymore. He shoots his hand out, grabbing AJ by the wrist. AJ pulls back, but Dean yanks, looking at him in the eye. "You think I don't know you by now? You think I can’t tell the difference between when you’re mad because I fucked with you or when you’re mad for whatever goddamn reason because I was _nice_ to you?”

"You weren't nice last night."

"Tell me everything that happened." Dean’s squeezing AJ’s wrist. “I can’t… I can’t apologize if I don’t know what I did.”

That seems to do the trick. AJ stops, looking at him. His face scrunches up before his mouth opens. “It was a rough night for you too. You… ya begged me not to leave so I stood.”

“I begged…”

“Have you checked your phone yet? That might help a little.”

AJ seems to be pushing for Dean to remember on his own, but he’s not sure why. All this overthinking will ruin what they have, this flow of rough sex and weird kinship. Dean feels everything around AJ, this need to break his face and to make him flustered and to make sure he’s okay and sometimes the need to force a little sweetness out of him. It’s messed up and whatever it is, it made Dean drive a car drunk down a freeway and camp out in front of a statue of a Confederate soldier until AJ came and got him. Dean wondered what he would’ve done if AJ had chosen to ignore his call. “I want to hear it from you.”

“How bout… just check your phone. And then while I’m drivin’ you to your rental, I’ll tell ya anything you didn’t figure out.” Dean doesn’t have to respond. Compromise. There. Who said they couldn’t be civil? “Can I have my wrist back?”

***

AJ doesn’t think he’s talked about the specifics of his upbringing since coming to the WWE. Joe, of course, knows far too much but that was the result of a near two-decade friendship, of knowing each other when AJ drove a water truck and even the nicest hotel they stood in had a browned stain that could’ve been anything from a melted chocolate bar to dried blood. Crap was Joe’s favorite guess. For as long as he’s known Xavier, he’s never gone that deep with him. As close as AJ got to Karl and Luke in Japan, he’s never told them either.

Family protects family. AJ’s rule with the Club, AJ’s rule in a Gainesville trailer park.

Yet the look in Dean’s eyes when AJ told him that the pie was meant for his mother already told AJ that Dean _knew_. AJ certainly never spilled the details to Dean—the confessions in their drinking game were the only time he’d revealed anything to Dean. AJ still doesn’t know what pushed him to be honest with Dean about a relationship he’d been in six years ago, with someone Dean knew a hell of a lot better than AJ did. He should’ve just lied. He should’ve just not drank.

“Yer _ma_?” Dean mocked, the last of the pie in his mouth.

It was a huge insult. Southern men didn’t deal with women being insulted in front of them; southern men _definitely_ didn’t allow anyone to talk about their mothers. AJ clenched his fist and tried to tell himself that Dean was having a little fun with his accent. AJ was tired, and it tended to get heavier when he was tired. When a piece of crap called him at three in the morning to come pick him up in front of Old Joe.

“Yes. I made it for her. She’s visiting tomorrow.”

“You still talk with her?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Moment I was old enough to get out I didn’t look back.” Crumbs had sprinkled onto his table. AJ was seriously considering punching him, but punching a drunk man felt like a pointless endeavor. “She hit you too, or was it just the ol’ man?”

“ _Excuse me_?”

“Oh come on. She get a little loose with the hands?”

AJ stood up, Dean’s eyes tracking the movement. “You wanna stay here, you don’t say another word about my ma.”

“You don’t gotta lie to me. Your dad and my mom, sound like two of a kind. Both raised some fucked up individuals if you ask me. But your mom just let it happen, or she join in the fun?”

_SLAP_

Dean’s face turned to the side, a red mark where AJ’s hand hit his face. He started to chuckle, before looking back up at AJ.

“Isn’t that our greatest fear? Being _just like them_?”

AJ didn’t have a good answer for that. He didn’t want to talk about his upbringing or any possible fears with Dean, not like this. It wasn’t fair of him to drag this out. To pretend like he knew AJ’s family, or AJ himself.

“You’re going to bed.”

***

Dean’s phone is at 33 percent when he turns it on. He cringes again as the notifications come up. A couple texts and three missed calls from the very last person Dean should’ve been talking to last night. If AJ knew, AJ would’ve probably left him in the middle of Gainesville.

One of the texts was from him, too.

_Are you okay?_

Dean breathes. Racking his brain, trying to remember calling him. But the conversation won’t materialize in his head.

He presses back. The other text was from Roman.

_I’m sorry. Sleep this off and we can talk tomorrow?_

Dean’s brow furrows. He talked to _Roman_ last night. Roman, his best friend who had somehow become radio static. Roman, the brother who didn’t rip his heart out, at least not on purpose. Not with the malice his other ‘brother’ did. Dean goes to his call log next—there’s Roman’s name, second from the top. 1:56 AM. The more Dean stares at the time, the more he thinks that this... whatever he and Roman talked about… led him to get on the road.

Roman. AJ’s mother. Pie.

Dean’s done with this. The confusion is too much, each new piece of information hurting worse than the last.

Dean’s finger presses the name right above Roman’s. This one, 2:37. Dean would’ve been on the road to Gainesville by then. He presses the call symbol before slowly leading the phone to his ear. Listening to the ringing.

“You all right?”

The accent’s welcoming to Dean. Familiarity that Dean finds hard to sustain, since he was a teenager. Dean probably can count on one hand the people who have that with him, and their number is dwindling.

“Yeah, uh… we talk last night?”

“No, I was a bit busy when you called. But wasn’t it late where you are? Thought you were in trouble.”

A sigh of relief. So Dean didn’t betray AJ’s trust last night. “No, no, I guess I just wanted to say hi.”

***

AJ’s glad Dean doesn’t talk until they get to his car. It gives AJ time to collect his thoughts, the things he wants to say.

“So. Checked my phone like you asked.”

AJ nods, focused on pulling out of his driveway. “Ring any bells?”

“No, not really. Still kind of confused.” When AJ’s on the road, he can see Dean thinking through the mirror. They’ve got maybe fifteen minutes to talk and AJ would rather not at all, but Dean could be stubborn. “I talked to Roman last night.”

He says the last sentence hopefully, and AJ’s not sure what that means. He almost feels guilty. He’s not ready to pop that bubble.

“Yeah. You did.”

“I told you about it?”

AJ nods.

“What did I say about your mom?”

“You… asked if she hit me.”

“I’m guessing you might’ve hit me for that one.” Dean sighs. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

It occurs to AJ to tell Dean that he brought up his own mother as well, but he holds it in. The kind of personal thing he could maybe spare Dean from having to contemplate. “After that I just wanted to get you to sleep, get it over with. I took you upstairs.”

***

Dean’s arm was around his shoulder, the smell of liquor strong on his breath.

“I didn’t think you’d take it so serious.” AJ ignored Dean’s other hand as it scratched his beard. A weird bit of familiarity AJ never thought he’d receive from the other man. “Thought it was funny, you know? You and me, same backgrounds and all.”

“I don’t know what you went through, but that wasn’t my childhood. That wasn’t my parents.”

“You don’t gotta lie. From one battered kid to another? We can tell. We know the lies. Me, I just stopped tellin’ em.”

Dean’s body was close. Heavy. Dean was leaning more on AJ than he was supporting his own weight. AJ didn’t respond that time, just wanting the conversation to drop. One step and then another. AJ picked the first of the two guest rooms for Dean, wanting to get rid of him.

“This your room? Kinda empty. Always took ya for a pack rat.”

Dean fell on the bed with a thud, shoulder first, and AJ’s hand covered his mouth. He hadn’t meant to drop him so hard. But then he heard a chuckle, and he let out a breath. Thank god the other man was so hard headed.

Dean’s legs hung off the side of the bed and AJ knelt down, untying the first boot. It was bad enough Dean walked all over his carpet in them, but he wasn’t about to sleep in his bed with them too.

“I always liked you down there.”

AJ hit his thigh, a hard slap, before pulling the first boot off.

“You’re good at it.” Dean was emptying his pockets. His phone and his wallet hit the ground next to AJ, with no concern over the phone’s safety. AJ couldn’t help but check to make sure Dean hadn’t inadvertently broken it; the face was unblemished. It was reckless, yet it worked out for Dean anyway. “Love thinkin’ about it. In my mind there’s no condom though.”

“Shut up.” AJ got the second one off. “If you need anythin’, my room’s the last door. Get some sleep.” AJ held Dean’s boots under his arm, getting back to standing. Dean pushed himself up to sit, legs wide.

“Wait, hold up.” Dean caught AJ’s arm, a tug. He grabbed his boots and tosses them by the door, each thud making AJ cringe. He’d have to vacuum at some point tomorrow. “Come here.”

AJ immediately got the implication and shook his head. The next words came out rushed. “Oh, no, m’really ok…”

“Made you come get me least I can do…” Dean’s hand was on AJ’s pajama bottoms, tugging, and AJ clenched his thighs together to keep them from going down too far.

“Okay, stop, stop…” Dean still tugged, and AJ grabbed his wrist, stopping him. A breath, before putting on the most authoritative voice he could muster. His dad’s voice. Dean’s words about their greatest fear echoing in his head as he said, “Cut the crap!”

Dean looked up at that. His knuckles still against AJ’s belly. “So you’re just gonna leave me here?”

“Dean, m’just down the hall…” Gentler now. Pulling Dean’s hand away from his pants. “You need to get some sleep.”

“But, uh, I know we’re not friends or nothing but you’re the only person who comes when I ask anyway…” Dean doesn’t normally look up at AJ. The height difference is normally in his favor. It was strange to see the other man like this. “And uh, I can’t… just… you should stay.”

“I, uh…”

“I won’t do nothing, scout’s honor.”

“You weren’t a scout.”

“But I bet _you_ were.”

That he was. Somewhere in his mom’s house are the badges to prove it. And AJ doesn’t know what about that statement makes him push Dean, tell him to move over, but in a few moments they were in AJ’s guest bed together. AJ pulling down the cover, Dean’s body making the task harder than it needs to be.

Dean’s arm wrapped around AJ’s waist, and before he could protest, he could feel himself be yanked toward Dean. Dean’s hand resting on his belly, his body close. Spooning with him was definitely out of AJ’s comfort zone, but at least Dean wasn’t yanking down his pants? Progress?

“I don’t get you.”

It sounded like something AJ would say, not Dean.

“Thought you didn’t like thinkin’.”

“I don’t but…” A squeeze. It felt so oddly comfortable. “You. Remember when your boys got a job here? You pushed them away. They did everything for you and you pushed them away but the moment you decided you actually wanted them they came running back. Like dogs.”

“Why are you insultin’ my friends?”

“Dogs are loyal. People aren’t.” His fingers traced circles on AJ’s belly. Pushing up the shirt just enough to skate along AJ’s treasure trail. “Except to you, I guess. You do whatever you want and people fall at your feet anyway. I gave everythin’ to my friends and what do I got to show for it?”

AJ should have pushed away, thinking back at it. Why hadn’t he pushed away, gone to his own room? Instead he remained in that embrace, listening to Dean drunkenly unload. “You’ve got people in different countries fawnin’ over you and I can’t keep one friendship. You know I talked to Rome today? My _best friend_? He really thinks he has a shot at mending things with Seth and it would be better for them… I’m sorry, all _three_ of us… if I gave them some space. Seth’s not sure he _trusts_ me. Everything he’s done and I’m the one who has to stay away.

“I mean, and of course Seth wants to mend things with Roman and not me, you know? I pushed. I kept pushing, I… I was so mad. I just couldn’t understand. And I tried. Was all of that really worth more than what we offered? That’s… that’s what I don’t get about you. You don’t earn it, you don’t work for it, and you still… they still love you. How’s it so easy for you?”

AJ didn’t know how to handle the accusation. Dean doesn’t know him or his friends, and he so easily passed judgment on them and on AJ. Yet Dean’s saying something so much more meaningful about himself than about AJ or his friends. The idea of Dean Ambrose being jealous of him is ridiculous, yet there he was, rubbing his belly and asking for a secret AJ wasn’t sure he had.

“That’s the problem with love. You don’t earn it. You just… get it.”

Dean’s hand stopped. AJ could hear him inhale, press his face into AJ’s hair. Small pressure; AJ thinks it might be his nose.

“Yeah. You do.”

***

“You… hit on me.” AJ measures each word. He doesn’t want to spill everything. “Then you told me about the call with Roman. You told me to stay so I stayed.”

“What did I say about the call?”

“Roman thought he could fix things with Seth so he wanted you to give them space.”

Dean shrugs. “I knew that, he didn’t have to tell me.”

AJ swallows down the way Dean sounded, the thought of Dean’s fingers on his belly. _You’re the only person who comes when I ask anyway._ “You wanted a booty call and it didn’t happen. And then we laid in bed together. Big whoop.”

“You gave me the runaround over a failed booty call?”

“You drove an hour here drunk and insulted my ma, you’re lucky the runaround’s all I gave ya.”

Dean nods, and AJ hopes that’s it. That Dean doesn’t keep digging. It’s better for the both of them that he doesn’t remember the details. “Guess I gotta stop taking drinks from Atlanta folk. Not even sure what happened there. But uh, we still slept together, you know.”

“Yeah. What of it?”

“I guess, just, I’m not saying it’s gotta mean something, but…” Dean looks at him and shrugs again. “Do we have to keep playing hot and cold? I dunno, yeah, maybe I took the pranks a little far. Because you’re a fucking selfish prick. But if we’re gonna keep doing this maybe we can… be cool?”

AJ squeezes the wheel. It’s not a terrible request; it’s honestly much better than what they have now, and would certainly clear up some of the confusion. But coupled with what AJ knows about Dean and the night before, it feels like a trap. “Because nothing gets between you and what you want.”

“You either. But that doesn’t mean we can’t try for civil, right? At least ‘til we meet again in the ring?”

It takes AJ a moment to figure out how to answer that. “Yeah. I think we can try.”

***

AJ had felt a kiss on his neck before he’d fallen asleep. Soft. Another by his ear.

“Stop.”

“Sorry. Just… don’t think I hate you as much as I think I do.”

AJ opened his eyes that morning thinking of those words. Dean’s hand still on his belly. Dangerously close to the wood he’d woken up with.

 

 

 

 


End file.
